Cold
by batmaaan
Summary: Soulmate: a person with whom one has a strong affinity, shared values and tastes, and often a romantic bond. {A collection of Chasing the Sun au one-shots.}
1. Again

**_Again_**

"ShadowClan is proud to announce a new warrior. Icepaw has shown wonderful promise over the course of her apprentice days and now goes by Icepetal. We know she will protect her Clan with her life."

The white-furred she-cat raised her head high, soaking in the praise as the Clans chanted her new name. She hadn't told anyone yet but she loved her new name. It filled her with pride to know that she'd made it – that she was finally a warrior. A star winked in the sky above the island and she smiled. _I hope you're proud of me, mother._

The chanting died down as she sat back down, flicking her plumy brown tail over her paws. She glanced over at her father to find him smiling proudly right back at her.

"Icepetal's siblings have also earned their warrior names. Dustclaw, Bluesplash, and Ebonyfur were unable to make it tonight," Darkstar continued. "ShadowClan is grateful to have such strong warriors."

"It's always pleasing to see the Clans thriving," ThunderClan's leader – Redstar – affirmed. "We are also happy to have with us a new warrior. Willowclaw is no doubt a brilliant asset to ThunderClan and has come far from his early days as a rogue."

A huge, shaggy furred, brown tabby tom stood up, a single ear twitching as he glanced around the gathered cats chanting his name. Icepetal opened her mouth to add her voice to the din when his sharp amber eyes halted on her.

He frowned and looked away.

_What's his problem? _She shut her mouth, refusing to even mutter his name.

Through the rest of Redstar's news she could feel a prickling sensation. Someone was watching her, and she wasn't going to give them so much as a glance. If they wanted to talk to her then they'd have to approach her first. _Besides, ShadowClan warriors don't need friends from other Clans._

"That new ThunderClan warrior's been staring holes in the back of your head for ages now," a hushed voice whispered.

Icepetal arched a brow at her friend. "So? He can do what he likes, Lightningfall."

"Maybe you should go talk to him," Lightningfall pressed with a lopsided grin.

"Why would I do that? He's a ThunderClan warrior, not someone I'd like to be friends with," she hissed at him.

He shook his head. "The Clans have been relatively peaceful for seasons, there's no longer any harm in having friends from other Clans."

"I don't need friends." _Especially not one that was once a rogue. _Her fur bristled.

"Everyone needs friends, stop being so uptight."

"StarClan help me!" Icepetal groaned. "If I talk to him will you get off my back?"

Lightningfall nodded with a bright smile, "what are you going to say to him?"

She shrugged, watching RiverClan's leader finish her speech and step back. With the news from other Clans shared quickly there was still time to mingle with others. Stretching her neck she could make out Willowclaw's bulky shape sitting with a few other new warriors. "Probably something rude," she smirked and rose to her paws.

"That's not how you make friends," Lightningfall snorted.

"I never said anything about making him my friend. All I said was that I'd talk to him."

She left Lightningfall opening and shutting his mouth like a fish, making her way through the crowd with ease. A few cats paused to congratulate her or say hello but none stopped for a friendly conversation. It wasn't like her to make friends easily. She didn't need or want them.

"Uh oh. Here comes the she-devil."

The nickname no longer inflicted a sting of pain whenever she heard it. Apprentices from other Clans had been using it for moons.

She sauntered over to the younger warriors glancing over all of them until her eyes fell on Willowclaw's intimidating form. He was a lot bigger close up. "Like what you see?" she purred coldly, staring up at him through slitted eyes.

"Not really," his tone was bored, "you look a little too dainty to be a ShadowClan warrior."

"Have we met before?" she seethed, choosing to ignore his insult.

"No. But I've heard the rumours about you."

Icepetal rolled her eyes. "The ones where I killed my own mother because she was prettier than me?" He nodded. "Let me assure you that those are fake. My mother was killed by your _kind_," she spat the word.

His hackles rose as he curled his lip, "my kind?"

"You're a rogue aren't you? Once a rogue, always a rogue. Your kind are bloodthirsty savages who enjoy killing for fun. ThunderClan must have stooped to new lows to allow a rogue into their ranks," she snarled.

"Count yourself lucky that I can't attack you on a Gathering night," Willowclaw's voice was laced with hate. "Or I would've torn your insides out. Now get out of my way." He shouldered past her without giving her the chance to move. "Next time we meet I'll show you how a _real _warrior fights."

She bit back a string of curses. "ThunderClan cats are all talk and no bite," she spat.

The big tabby tom didn't even look back as he padded away, his Clan mates hot on his heels. A few of the warriors from other Clans stood in silence behind Icepetal. "What are you looking at?" she snapped at them. "Go annoy some other cats."

Lightningfall was still sitting where she'd left him when she returned tail lashing and blue eyes stormy. "How'd it go?" he inquired.

"Never so much as mention the word 'friend' to me again," she hissed.

"Are you bugging the only cat other than me who can stand your presence, love?"

"Mintfeather!" Lightningfall welcomed his mate with a loud purr. "Of course I'm not! I was just offering some friendly advice."

His pretty fawn mate cuffed him around the head. "Stop meddling. Icepetal doesn't need advice anymore. She's a warrior; she can take care of herself."

"Thank you," Icepetal sighed. "I was beginning to think his head really was filled with wood."

"Oh, it is."

Lightningfall huffed, "okay, okay you two have had your fun now can we go home?"

Crossing the tree-bridge, making her way across the border into the comfort of ShadowClan's thick pine forest the urge to claw that ThunderClan tom's eyes out remained with her. His narrowed gaze haunted the backs of her eyelids; his bored tone repeated his threat over and over in her ears. He was the first tom to ignore her subtle advances, to snap back at her with equal distaste in his voice.

_-000-_

Her paws slid silently across the damp ground, ears and nose twitching as she stalked easily through the dark undergrowth. She'd just stepped over the Twoleg path when she'd scented a squirrel and heard it scampering around. Now she was slowly gaining on the unsuspecting creature. It wasn't very often that squirrels ventured too far into ShadowClan.

She could see its busy tail poking out from around a tree trunk on the very edge of the clearing. A single glance up allowed her to look out over to ThunderClan's forest. They still held ownership of the clearing; she could smell their foul scent markers.

The air was starting to turn cold a clear sign of the advancing leaf bare. It was earlier this season which was worrying. Long leaf bares were always tougher to get through. The tales of greencough and lack of prey driving Clans to attack each other or take prisoners had stuck in the back of Icepetal's mind.

She sunk her claws into the soft ground as she slunk closer to her prey. One of the queens would be eating well later.

The squirrel wandered away from the tree, snuffling through the leaves in search of something. She held her breath as she drew ever closer. Sinking into a crouch she wiggled her hindquarters and pounced, snarling when her prey skittered forwards at the last moment. She hit the ground where it had been and shot off after it, ignoring the border as she streaked over it.

Her longer legs gave her the edge she needed. A better judged jump later and the squirrel was limp in her jaws.

The border leered at her from a few fox leaps away. No ThunderClan cats had appeared from the shadows to shout at her for stealing their prey so she assumed she'd gotten away with it and made her way back to the safety of her territory.

"I hope you're not going to take that over the border."

She froze mid-step the fur on her shoulders bristling. The voice was unpleasantly familiar. "It shouldn't surprise you when I do."

Willowclaw didn't find her comment amusing at all. In fact he looked about ready to tear her head off. "Didn't you notice the border?"

"Oh! The border! Did I cross it?" she gasped mockingly. "I had no idea."

The ThunderClan tom growled, "don't be stupid. You knew the moment you crossed it."

Icepetal shrugged. "I was hungry and this," she poked the squirrel now resting by her paws, "looked very appetising. Not my fault it ran across the border."

"It died on ThunderClan territory. That makes it ThunderClan prey."

"But it was killed by a ShadowClan cat who chased it from ShadowClan territory," she pointed out slowly. "That makes it ShadowClan prey."

He took three big steps halting whiskers from Icepetal. "Leave the squirrel. Go home. It's not hard."

"It is when that squirrel is supposed to feed a hungry queen and her kits."

"ThunderClan has queens to feed as well," Willowclaw snapped.

She rolled her eyes and curled her lip, "you have plenty of squirrels to hunt. We don't get many of them." She thrust her muzzle into his face. "So back off before I make you."

Her back hit the ground, the air rushing out of her lungs in one big gust. Willowclaw stood with paws planted either side of her body, lip curled and claws nipping her flesh. "Warriors protect their Clans from thieves," he spat and lurched forward, teeth clamping shut on Icepetal's ear.

The ShadowClan she-cat threw back her head, ripping her ear from his vice-like grip, and raked her claws down his stomach. In his lapse of attention as he fumbled to keep his footing she swiped at the back of his knees, slithering out from under him before he could crash down on top of her.

Her teeth found his tail and she yanked it back to throw him off balance once again, dashing forward to claw at his side and shove his head down into the grass. A sharp pain sparked from her hind-leg as Willowclaw struck with the speed of a snake, grabbing her leg in his jaw. When he bit down she cried out as the bone splintered.

Whipping around she launched her revenge on his big head, digging her claws into his forehead and dragging down till she felt the tom release her leg. He was on his paws in an instant, glaring down at her as she struggled to remain standing on three paws. Blood dripped down his face.

Teeth met her scruff as he lifted her off the ground, forcefully throwing her closer to the border. She hit the ground shoulder first, gasping as it cracked loudly. Her eyes rolled towards the back of her head.

A shadow fell across her and she felt a slight twinge of fear. _Don't give up, ShadowClan cats never give up, we are an unstoppable force._

"Maybe you'll think twice about stealing from ThunderClan," Willowclaw mused.

She struck in a heartbeat throwing her bodyweight up to gain as much height as possible, sinking her teeth into his throat. But something stopped her at the last moment, stopped her from ripping out his throat. A tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her of a warrior's honour. They never have the need to kill.

So she released the gasping tom, glanced back at the stupid squirrel that caused this, and stumbled towards the border. "Take the stupid squirrel. It's not worth it."

There was a small part of her that wanted her to look back, to see if he was okay or if he was bleeding to death. But there was a larger, bitterer part that just didn't care. It told her that if he died it would be revenge for her mother.

Darkstar would be peeved that she'd crossed the border and returned with no prey. Vaguely she debated attempting to hunt on the way back but upon placing even a little weight on either her injured paw or cracked shoulder induced a wave of eye-watering pain.

Lightningfall would not doubt laugh at her. She smirked. She'd get him back if he did.

_-000-_

Leaf bare had viciously bared its fangs. Prey had dwindled until there was practically nothing left. Illness had plagued all four Clans, and the harsh season was in no way nearly over. It was painfully hard to wake up each freezing morning knowing that it was highly possible that disease or starvation would claim another victim.

Two kits and an apprentice had joined StarClan far too early. Mintfeather had miscarried. An elder had caught greencough.

ShadowClan was sinking beneath a puddle of fear.

"You can try again," she murmured to Lightningfall. "When new leaf dawns, when the prey starts to run again. You'll have your kits."

The usually cheerful tom no longer had the energy to crack even a joke; the loss of his unborn kits had hit him hard. It had hit Mintfeather even harder.

"What if we lose them again?" he mumbled.

"You won't," she reassured.

He sighed and tucked his muzzle under his tail, a clear indication that he was done with the conversation. His golden-coloured amber eyes were dull, as was his bright golden tabby pelt.

"I guess I'll see you later then," she murmured, pressing her nose to her friend's head before turning to the tiny fresh kill pile.

There was only an emaciated mouse and a frog left, both of which looked unappetising. Her stomach growled loudly but she turned away from the prey. There were other cats that needed food more than she did.

"Going hunting again, Icepetal?" the guard on duty, Nettleflame, inquired tiredly. Her snow white belly was stained brown with slushy mud. Snow always reduced parts of ShadowClan's territory to pools of muddy slush.

"There's nothing else to do," she replied.

Nettleflame smiled gently. "Good luck."

She wandered the territory aimlessly, drifting from place to place without a clear idea of where she was going. It was near silent save for the icy breeze rushing through the trees. She raised her head and scented the air, hanging her head in defeat when no scents of prey caught her nose.

Her pelt no longer shone like it used to, didn't fluff up in a healthy manner. It hung limp on her scarily thin figure doing nothing more other than weighing her down whenever she took a step. She wouldn't be surprised if her pelt weighed more than she did.

The last Gathering she'd attended seemed ages ago back when the sun was warm and the Clans were fat. It felt like a lifetime ago now.

She stumbled over a root hidden under the snow, tumbling out of the tree line and into pale sunshine. The snow seeped into her fur chilling her to her bones but she just couldn't find the energy to move. Absently she wondered if anyone could even spare the energy to go searching for her if she failed to return. She wondered if they'd find a corpse instead.

"Icepetal?"

Her eyelids slid shut as her name was uttered so gently.

When she opened them the world around her was shadowed, soft, and strangely warm. She sighed in quiet delight. It had been so long since she'd felt warm. Shifting closer to the source of warmth she thought she heard a heartbeat.

"You're awake."

Eyes – which had begun to slide shut once again – snapped wide open. Rolling a little to the left she stared up into a pair of amber eyes that, for once, weren't brimming with hatred. A drop of uncertainty chilled her blood as she realised that she didn't know where she was.

Walls of stone rose high above her, old looking wooden beams crisscrossed the roof, and no snow coated the ground. "Where am I, Willowclaw?"

"The abandoned Twoleg nest," he answered quietly.

It was him that was keeping her warm, his body pressed tightly against hers in a haphazardly made bracken nest. She attempted to crawl away from him but he pulled her back with a single paw. "You nearly froze to death," he supplied upon seeing her confused look, "on the border. Your body was so cold, I thought you were dead."

"Why'd you bring me here?" she murmured, giving up on escaping and returning back to the warmth of his side. Her body was slow to respond, still so weak from days of no food.

"I didn't know where your camp was and there's too much sickness in mine so I figured here was the next best place," he admitted. His nose was cold when it pressed against her protruding ribs. "You're so thin. When was the last time you ate?"

She glanced away. When _was _the last time she ate? She couldn't actually remember. Did the tiny mouthful of lizard she'd had two days ago count? "It feels like forever," she whispered.

Willowclaw didn't feel overly thin, but he certainly wasn't as bulky as he had been the last time she'd seen him. Twisting she rolled over to face him and her eyes found four puncture holes on his throat, the ones she'd given him. A little wave of guilt washed over her. "I really don't deserve this."

"Why not?" he yawned.

She lifted a paw and pressed it to the old wound. "I could've killed you."

"But you didn't. For some silly reason you decided to spare an idiot like me."

"A warrior doesn't need to kill to win," she reminded, watching his gaze soften. It surprised her that he was being so kind.

He nudged her head under his chin. "I like to believe that it was more than that."

She inched closer, burying her nose into the thick fur around his neck. He smelt like the forest mixed with a dash of that foul ThunderClan scent. In the safety of the abandoned Twoleg nest Icepetal found that she didn't mind the other Clan's smell all that much.

"Did...did you ever think about me after that day when I nearly killed you?" she mumbled.

Willowclaw flicked his long tail over hers. "Every day. You were always the first thing I thought of in the morning and the last at night."

She didn't think it was strange or weird or wrong, because she'd thought of him every day too.

_-000-_

"Do you think you're Clan is still searching for you?" Willowclaw asked six mornings after Icepetal had awoken pressed against him.

They now lay just inside the abandoned Twoleg nest watching more snow tumble gently from the gray sky. A pitiful looking mouse sat in front of them. Their paws were positioned together, Willowclaw's head resting lightly on top of Icepetal's.

"I don't know; maybe. I certainly wouldn't blame them for giving up, for not wanting to find and bury another body," she replied. "What about yours?"

"No. They know I'll always come back," he said.

She rolled onto her back, blinking up at the ThunderClan tom. "Why haven't you gone back yet?"

"And leave you to stumble back to your Clan only to die alone in the snow when the prey refuses to run? That doesn't sound very nice."

"Why am I so important to you? I'm just a two-faced ShadowClan warrior after all."

He nosed the shoulder he'd cracked when he'd thrown her that day. "I don't know," he admitted, "all I know is that, for some bizarre reason, the idea of letting you go scares me."

"This coming from the tom who wanted to kill me a few moons ago," Icepetal laughed.

Willowclaw smiled. "I knew you were different from the first moment I saw you. I just wasn't very nice about it."

A saddening thought crossed Icepetal's mind. "We'll have to go home eventually," she whispered, looking out at the falling snow. She did miss her home, she missed it terribly. There was an ache in her heart that could only be filled by her family.

"Soon. But..not just yet," he breathed.

She'd learnt about the short-tempered ThunderClan tom. A rogue abandoned by his family who stumbled upon a ThunderClan patrol one leaf fall evening, desperate to prove himself to anyone who would pay any attention. No Clan cats took kindly to rogues but one of the older warriors, his mentor, saw something in a young, unsure Willowclaw. What his mentor saw so did everybody else as time passed.

But she'd also learnt trivial things. His favourite prey was vole. He was terrible at hunting and swimming. He hated spiders, and he was surprisingly soft-hearted when he wanted to be.

She didn't look at him like a rogue anymore. He was a Clan cat in her eyes; a friend.

They fell asleep like that, dozing peacefully in a world all of their own.

"Icepetal, wake up. Wake up now," there was a hint of impatience in Willowclaw's voice when he started jabbing her awake later that night.

"Just a little while longer," she mumbled and curled into a ball.

She heard an exasperated sigh, "we don't have much longer. There's a ThunderClan patrol making its way here!"

"What!? Why is a patrol coming here?" Icepetal lurched to her paws, wincing as her still weak body protested the explosive movement.

Willowclaw was leaning out of the Twoleg nest, staring into the silent world of white. Lifting her nose to the air she scented ThunderClan. "I have to go. You'll get in trouble if they catch you with me," she murmured.

Though she missed her family a lot she didn't want to leave the peacefulness, didn't want to leave him. She felt a pang in her heart when he looked over his shoulder at her, amber eyes brimming with a sadness that was so out of place in his usually bored gaze.

"Thank you," he breathed once she'd joined him.

"For what?"

He nuzzled her neck, breathing in her scent. "For not pushing me away the moment you woke up."

"Yeah, well, I guess I owed you a little," she smirked though her skin felt increasingly warm beneath her fur.

Striding out into the snow she paused to look back over her shoulder at the ThunderClan tom she'd come to tolerate, the tom she'd let strangely close. "We'll...we'll see each other again, right?" she asked.

A smile curved his muzzle and lit a spark in her heart. "Of course."

_-000-_

She laughed, something she hadn't done in moons, at the kit's failed attempts to scramble over the old log. Its tabby body swung helplessly as it desperately tried to haul its tiny body up and over the wooden obstacle. "I told you I'd help you over it," she purred and nosed the kit to safety.

"I was nearly there!" the fiery she-kit shot back.

Icepetal smiled softly, "sometimes you need a little help, Blossomkit."

"Are you gonna help us over too?" a small voice chirped.

"Of course, Stormkit."

The thick-furred, pale gray kit beamed up at Icepetal and waited patiently for the older warrior to scoop him up in her jaws and place him on the other side of the log. "Why are you making us walk this far any way?" he asked.

She carried the last two kits – a she-kit and tom – in her mouth as she hopped easily over the log, flicking Blossomkit's nose with her tail when the she-kit stuck her tongue out. "I want to show you all something. But it's a secret, remember? No one else can find out."

The she-kit, white all over save for a spot of brown over her left eye, blinked a pair of bright amber eyes in innocent understanding. "That means no telling Burrkit, Snowkit," Icepetal warned lightly.

She huffed, "I don't tell him everything."

"You told him about your sprained paw before you told us," the other tom giggled. His fur was a mix of white and brown tabby patches, but it was his oddly coloured eyes that made him so special to Icepetal – one blue and the other amber.

Snowkit pounced on her brother. "Only because he was the first cat I saw after it happened, Thrushkit!"

"Quiet, you'll wake every cat from here to WindClan," Icepetal groaned. "We're nearly there, just a little further."

The trees thinned out to reveal a grassy clearing bathed in soft moonlight, untouched by the recent floods. She let out a quiet breath and looked to the stars that winked in the broad expanse of midnight sky above. Inwardly she wondered what had become of him, if he still thought of her everyday like she did him.

"What's so important about here?" Blossomkit's demanding mew brought her back to reality. The other kits were giggling as they played together in the soft grass, but the tabby she-kit had remained by her side.

"Memories make this place very important to me," Icepetal answered. "Go play with your siblings, it's not every day you get to play in such a quiet place."

Blossomkit nodded, pouncing into the grass after Thrushkit's plumy tail.

There was just one thing missing from the picture before her, a tiny detail that would've made everything more perfect than it already was. A heavy feeling settled in her chest as she wandered further into the clearing, keeping a close watch on the happy kits.

ThunderClan's scent markers had already been crossed upon placing paw in the grass but she didn't care. She needed them to see this place, just once, before they grew up; and she needed to wander through the grass under a bright moon for the last time, before she gave up forever.

"Icepetal?"

Her breath left her lungs in one single gust. She'd nearly forgotten what her name sounded like when it was said by him. If she turned around would be actually be there or was it just a cruel trick of her mind? A cold way of reminding her just how far away he really was?

But she turned any way, and he was there, standing tall with amber eyes full of hope and wonder and awe. Her words caught in her throat. He was really there. He was actually standing right..._there._

"Oh, StarClan. It is you," he breathed. "You're really here."

Stormkit rolled into her leg, squeaking in surprise as Snowkit barrelled into him. The moment of pure wonder broke between them, the other two kits tumbling out of the grass to come to a stop just by Willowclaw's paws.

"Woah," Thrushkit laughed, "you're huge!"

"You could probably crush me," Stormkit giggled.

Blossomkit poked him in the side, "anyone could crush you."

"That's not true," he retorted.

"Yes it is," Snowkit informed.

Willowclaw sunk into a sort of crouch, bringing himself down to the same height as the four arguing kits with a sad sort of smile. "You must be Icepetal's kits," he guessed. "It's nice to meet you."

A mischievous look that Icepetal knew all too well was shared between them before Snowkit leapt at the ThunderClan tom with a loud cry of, "get him!"

They tussled, ShadowClan's future and ThunderClan's present, in the grass under a bright moon and thousands of watching stars, unknowingly bringing a white-furred she-cat the happiest memory she would ever have.

"Your father must be very proud of you all," Willowclaw commented as he watching Thrushkit balance on his muzzle.

"Are you?" Icepetal replied.

She watched uncertainly as the tom's eyes slid over all four kits, scrutinising them with a burning gaze, before looking straight at her. "What?"

"You're not making any sense, mother," Blossomkit mewed.

"Kits," she said as she sat down beside them all, "I'd like you to meet your father."

She knew then, in that moment when his eyes filled with emotion, that she loved him and he loved her back.


	2. Calamity

_Calamity_

_'a dangerous game it is, to fall for a soul upon the battlefield.'_

It is night when they return. The sun had long since set, long golden rays dying out to be replaced by the chill of darkness. White flames dot the midnight sky; stars they had, once upon a time, worshiped. They are meaningless now, just flecks of dust in an endless expanse of nothing.

Their community is small compared to the Clans she knows dwell in a valley far beyond the horizon, but it is home. Tucked away in the safety of a glade, sharing the open clearing with a pond of considerable size - not quite big enough to be considered a lake, but close. Sleeping in dens cradled by the roots of a magnificent oak, many a generation have lived in peace.

When the war came banging upon their door it brushed off the dust and cobwebs hanging from the old community, demanding they step into the present. It wasn't as if they weren't prepared to enter the war, each member was trained to defend their home with their lives, there just hadn't been the need to use those skills against anything more than a fox.

Six had left; brave-faced, proud, speaking of the songs that would be sung of their heroic deeds. Those that had come to collect them - weary faced and gaunt - spoke little of the things they had seen, the battles they had taken part in. It didn't take a genius, however, to acknowledge the terrible things they'd no doubt seen.

One moon of waiting turned to four, and then eight, and then twelve. The ones left behind, considered too young, too old, or too injured, stopped expecting their soldiers to return. Grim reality reminded them of how unlikely it was that the six would survive the war against Her Majesty's army, for her army was border unstoppable.

Rumors brought by travelling loners spun dark tales of blood soaked battlefields, bodies of the dead left to rot simply because there were too many to bury. It seemed, to the community, that the resistance was losing.

Under the cold glow of a white moon - it wasn't blood red anymore - feline shapes moved ungracefully through the deciduous forest, snapping twigs and crackling leaves loudly underfoot. A guard, lazily chasing after a leaf drifting across the pond's surface, perked his ears, releasing a warning yowl.

Sleepy cats stumbled from their dens, hissing halfheartedly while the fur along their spines bristled. Ten against two were favorable odds for the community, not that the two intruders looked dangerous.

She hung back, lingering behind her family and friends, lacking the motivation to raise her hackles in defence for her home. If the war wanted to uproot their home and destroy it, then so be it. Maybe then she'd be allowed to leave, be allowed to go in search of him, her mate.

From the corner of her eye she catches a glimpse of long, dark tabby fur as it passes through a pool of moonlight. Her heart clenches, head whipping around to track the figure's movements. A pair of amber eyes meet her yellow ones. The pressure on her heart increases to a point when it's near painful, and the moment the intruders step from the forest and into the clearing, her heart near gives out.

He's back.

She doesn't wait for her community's reactions, just barges her way past them, throwing herself at the cat who she thought would never return. Her pounce sends them sprawling. Beneath his thick pelt she can feel lean muscles and many scars, things he didn't have before he left.

He doesn't return her affections, just goes rigid beneath her.

Pulling back she catches his gaze hoping to see even a shred of love in his lovely eyes. There is nothing reflected in them; they are blank, dead, just eyes looking but not seeing. It hits her harder than it should have, and perhaps it was selfish of her to assume he'd return and be the same. But she wants him to smile at her like he used to, to say her name with the same love in his voice.

"Willow?" her voice catches in her throat. The community has stilled around them, staring wide-eyed at two of the six soldiers that had left.

He flinches, mumbles something. "I..could you say that again?" she hesitates.

"Not my name," he repeats slightly louder.

A cold feeling settles on her. "Oh..what is it then?" All she can think is that he has lost his mind, forgotten who he is and where he comes from; forgotten _her. _It's another selfish thought. The name he offers creates a lump in her throat. It sounds vaguely familiar, like she's heard something similar to it before. "Do you remember who I am, Willowclaw?" she tests the name on her tongue.

"Yes," his voice is dull. "Plummet."

She almost sighs in relief. Perhaps there is still a chance that they can return to the way they were before the war. The relief is short-lived when he pushes her away, rising to his paws in a stiff, slow way mirroring the way elders rise. His body is not old, but his spirit is.

"What happened?" she asks quietly.

There is no missing the look of pure grief that shatters his dead looking eyes. His entire body just seizes up, muscles locking together. It brings his slow walk to the magnificent oak to a shuddering stop, flanks heaving with a sudden burst of rapid inhales.

Gently, slowly, as to not startle him, she brushes up against him, pressing her nose to his cheek in a comforting manner that borders on a lovers touch. "You can tell me," Plummet murmurs. "You know I'll always listen."

He swallows, entire body shuddering once more; "I fell in love."

/-\

The war has already impacted him in more ways than he could have expected, and he hasn't even made it to the frontline yet. His squadron, the one lead by a charismatic golden tom, picks off smaller groups of Her Majesty's army that have detached from the main wave, seeking out resistance encampments.

Already he has seen one of the six he left with cut down; her lack of attention proving fatal upon coming muzzle-to-muzzle with a brutish enemy soldier, slit from throat to tail in a single swipe. His leader hadn't allowed them to stop to pay respects, they needed to push the enemies back or an entire tribe would fall.

It had been difficult to just turn his back on the bloody, mangled body of his friend, to just leave her to rot on the battlefield as scraps for hungry crows. Turning his back had left an uncomfortable lump in his throat. He'd realised, during the fighting that day, that war wasn't what the stories and songs made it out to be.

War was brutal, unforgiving, and violent; a whirlwind of hurried decisions that usually ended with the deaths of many.

The faces of those he'd killed - even though they'd been enemies - swam on his closed eyelids each night, flashing fangs and claws dripping with blood. Each night they pounced on him in his dreams, wrestling with his subconscious in visions tinged with darkness and oozing blood.

Each morning he woke up shivering and panting, wondering if the other soldiers went through what he did each night. They'd all had to leave family behind too, surely they were feeling what he was feeling? The painful loneliness and near irresistible urge to just run home?

She was never far from his thoughts, replacing the pictures of torn apart bodies with her smiling face and bright eyes. At night, before he sleeps, he tries to remember all the good, happy times they'd once shared together; the shine of water on her ginger pelt as she glides smoothly through the water, yellow eyes alight with happiness.

As the days stretch into moons it gets steadily harder to conjure up happy thoughts.

In a dangerous battle beside a raging river he finds himself clinging desperately to life, slitting throats and tearing stomachs instinctively. His squadron stumbled upon an ambush, the steep incline opposite the river coming alive with screeching enemies quicker than a flash of lightning.

The leader can look after himself, cracking skulls beneath his hefty paw without so much as a second glance. The cats Willow left home with have become battle hardened, easily holding their own against the weaker enemies. It is the newcomer, face still rounded with kit-fluff, that finds himself struggling against the sudden onslaught. He has a pair of owl-like yellow eyes that, when meeting Willow's as he screams for help, become Plummet's.

Not sparing another heartbeat he dispatches the tom nipping at his neck, ramming his shoulder into bone, crushing ribs beneath his paws, and charges towards the struggling kitten.

He can practically hear the tom-kit's pathetic whimpers as he takes down whatever enemy dares to get in his way. Practically a fox-leap away he is certain he will make it, certain that he will be able to save the kitten from joining the dead far too soon. A sharp squeal rings out, blood spatters against his face, and the kitten sags to the ground, blood spurting from a ragged gash in his throat.

The killer looms over the kitten's convulsing body, _laughing_ and _jabbing_ at his kill like it's nothing more than a piece of prey. All Willow can see is Plummet's lifeless form, Plummet's blank yellow eyes staring up at him. He swear he can see disappointment reflect in the kitten's eyes before he takes a final wheezing breath.

Precious time has been wasted just staring at the now lifeless body. His leader has told him over and over to never stop during a fight. A paw slams into his head, knocking him off his paws. Dots swim before his vision. Frantically trying to get a grip on the muddy ground he slips, driving the air out of his lungs once again.

A shadow falls over him and blood drips onto his nose. Claws snag into his pelt, pushing him further into the mud. It begins to get hard to breathe, his muzzle now sinking into thick mud that sucks at his pelt. The dots return. His lungs start to burn. Yellow eyes stared at him from the backs of his eyelids with a mix of disappointment and sadness.

The weight is abruptly lifted off in a flurry of screeches and heavy thuds. A body splashes down beside him, blood practically gushing from a deep wound in its stomach. Lurching up he gasps in as much air as possible to soothe his burning lungs, greedily drinking the air tainted with death.

"What's your name, soldier?" a sharp, frosty voice demands. Whoever is speaking doesn't sound even the slightest bit tired, which he finds strange.

"Willow," he answers like a good soldier.

He looks up, and freezes. She is beautiful.

/-\

"You've got to tell us all about it!" a young kitten presses, twisting his way around Willowclaw's legs. The kitten is purring loudly, small tabby body almost vibrating. Plummet almost smiles, though it would have been a sad smile. Once upon a time she'd dreamed of having kittens of her own. Once upon a time she'd thought Willowclaw of the past would've wanted that too.

She moves back to give a few more kittens the chance to see a real soldier up close, understanding their wonder and awe. It's not everyday a hero comes back alive, though she could hardly call Willowclaw alive. She hates his new name; it's harsh and cruel. Why the 'claw'? Why did he want to remind himself of what he's been through by dragging that name home with him?

It doesn't hurt all that much finding out that he'd fallen in love. Twelve moons is a long time, she reasons. But she knows that when she is alone later the hurt will creep up on her. After all, she waited for him, not knowing if he would ever even return.

The other tom that had returned with him - thin, gaunt, red fur hanging off in clumps - sat with the elders, murmuring in low tones. One of them looked up, catching Plummet's eye, and indicated for her to join them with a flick of his tail. Intrigued she hurried over to join them; Willow's war time love could wait.

"Someone younger needs to pass this tale down," the same elder explained. "You have better ears, a more vigorous mind." Nodding to the returned soldier, "you remember Alec, don't you?"

"Father's brother," Plummet answered. "Welcome home, Uncle. It's good to see you alive."

Alec's answer was bitter, "I know you never expected to see me again. More concerned for your loved one." A twisted smile grew on his muzzle, "has he told you about what happened whilst we were away? That tidbit of information would make any warm welcome cold."

"He has," Plummet snapped, tail lashing. "It has not changed a thing."

The older tom snorted and thrust his muzzle into her face. "Wait until you're curled up in your nest, all cozy and warm; you'll start to think and think and suddenly everything he said will hit you like a rockslide, then things will begin to change."

Between them the tension crackled like lightning, until a mottled gray elder forced them away from each other. "Don't you have a story to tell, Alec? Playing family can wait until later," she hissed.

Alec curled his lip, cracked and yellowed teeth peeking out. "I suppose I do, would you mind if I saved it for later?" His old personality had survived the war, as had his knack for pushing the buttons of the community's elders. "I'm a tad hungry. Long walk from the war camp to this pit."

"Pit?" Plummet snarled, "this is home, _your _home, better than any other place in the whole world."

"What would you know of the world?" Willow's voice was dull. "You've never been beyond these woods. You don't know what it's like out there."

"Here I was thinking I'd lost you to reminiscing again, Willowclaw," Alec grinned.

Willowclaw wrinkled his nose, as if a foul smell had wafted across his nostrils. "I can do that later, after we've given our report."

"Report?" a short-furred elder rapsed. "Sounds far too formal."

"Do you want to hear what happened or not?" Willowclaw growled.

Plummet flinched. No cat dared to talk to the elders in such a tone. Once again she eyed her mate through narrowed eyes. She wanted to know what happened to him, why he'd turned into a cold...creature. A lump in her throat formed and her eyes burned; her mate was no longer her mate. It was a harsh reality.

She sat quietly during their tale, offering no comments or questions when the opportunities presented themselves. Though she gave no indication that she was even paying attention she was, ears pricked and taking in all the information given.

The resistance had won the war, but it had cost them greatly. Countless families would not ever get to see their loved ones again. Kittens would go motherless, fatherless, even both; orphans with nowhere to go. Siblings would never argue over pointless things, left to rot side-by-side in a land far from home.

As it was with war, death always won.

Her Majesty's army stood its final stand at the roots of their kingdom, waves upon waves of the mindless creating a barricade between the resistance and the mountain. Outnumbered but not giving up, the resistance fought for their lives, and for the lives they'd left at home.

In the light of Her blood moon, riding high in the sky amid dull stars, She appeared, cloaked in midnight black. Eyes of red surveyed the muddy, blood-covered, corpse littered battlefield with disdain. She struck with all her power, mate from another realm by her side, single living kitten drawing blood in mighty strikes.

Casualties increased, the likelihood of the resistance winning decreased. That was until a single leader pulled her exhausted squadron beyond the frontline, attacking Her Majesty's family head on. By a stroke of pure luck the squadron emerged victorious, but leaderless, only one of the six walking away with his life.

The sun rose the next morning and the blood moon set forever.

"That's all there is to it," Alec finished gruffly. Beside him Willowclaw was trembling, amber eyes stretched wide. "We won. Her Majesty lost. War over. Are we done?"

"Yes, thank you, Alec, Willowclaw. Go rest, you have deserved it." In their community there were no leaders but the elders were looked up to, what they said usually went; they'd seen their fair share of seasons between them and that made them wise, wise enough to trust.

"Wait." Plummet snagged Willowclaw's tail between her teeth, giving it a light tug. He looked over his shoulder at her with blank eyes. "I want to talk to you."

The tabby heaved a tired sigh. For the first time she truly noticed just how exhausted he looked; his entire body sagged. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

She nearly gave in, nearly let him walk away like he had all those moons ago. _No_. Shaking her head she stood tall, this time she would not give in. "It can't. Please. I..I haven't seen you in moons, just give me a few more moments."

"You act like I'm going to disappear."

"Please?"

"Fine." He nudged Alec's shoulder and the older tom just grunted, making his way over to the magnificent oak without another look. Other members of the community had long since retired knowing that they wouldn't get to know what happened until the morning. They were alone in the night. "Go on then."

"..." Her throat was dry, the words stuck. She needed to know but didn't want to ask for fear that she would not like the answer. But she _needed to know. _"Who was she? Some dainty thing that wandered from nest to nest?" her voice rose as her anger increased.

Willowclaw was _hers. _Not some other she-cats. They'd promised to be together forever but the first time they were apart for longer than a day he'd found somebody else. That wasn't what mates do. Mates stick together forever, grow old gracefully. "Did you love her because she was pretty? Because she gave you whatever you asked when you asked?" she was shouting now.

"Why!? I waited every day for you to come back, sat just inside the border day in day out, waiting to see you running back to me, only to find out you'd fallen for some...floozy!"

"Enough!" Willowclaw roared, entire body quaking. "How _dare you_? How dare you speak about her that way, you don't know anything! She is the greatest cat I have ever known! She will always be the greatest cat."

Plummet drew back, afraid of the molten rage lighting up the eyes of her mate. But she wasn't done yet. "Must've kept your nest _real _warm to give you such lovely memories," her voice quivered.

"My love is a leader, not some pretty thing flouncing through war camps. The sooner you get that into your thick head the sooner you can understand that I do not love you anymore. She is strong, brave, smart. Everything _you _are not," Willowclaw said quietly.

He walked away, leaving Plummet standing by herself in the cold chill of night wondering where she had gone wrong.

/-\

When he first lays eyes on her she is dripping in mud, blood, and gore. Her eyes are cold and chilling, holding no trace of remorse or mercy, blue like a dark ocean. She stands tall, proud, head held high, ears pricked. Scars lace her body, lean muscles ripple under a pelt that he thinks could be white, maybe brown near her tail.

He puts it down to exhaustion, but he could've sworn he saw a smile that night.

The rest of his squadron - save for Alec - perished in the river ambush. Of the six cats he left with, only two remain alive. Juniper he finds just upriver, head resting against a rock covered in her blood. Proteus lays with limbs splayed, stomach spilling out onto the pebbly shore. Saida sleeps in the river. The kitten, whose name he will never know, remains crumpled on the ground where he fell.

"There was nothing you could have done," she tells him as they abandon the bloody scene and the bodies. Her voice is soft but the words are hollow. "Get used to it."

Over the next rise is an encampment and beyond that the frontline. Willow is surprised to discover how close he and his squadron was to joining the main army. The charismatic leader, Proteus, had said they were to join with the army if they made it. The thought leaves him feeling empty.

He is entranced by the frosty she-cat with the beautiful blue eyes, never having seen such a she-cat in his life. Back home the she-cats are gentle, soft, unlikely to ever need to use the weak battle strategies they've been taught. But this one is battle-hardened, moves with a grace he has only seen in battle.

"Come with me," she orders when they reach the encampment. To Alec - who's wounds are still oozing - she says, "go find the healer. You are to stay here until you are fit to fight, then join another squadron." She addresses both of them next, "say your goodbyes. This might be the last time you see each other."

"What?" the protest is out of Willow's mouth before he can stop it. "Why aren't I staying with him? I can't leave him!"

She eyes him incredulously. "You've been given an order you your superior. I suggest you take it." She falters, mouth opening and then closing. "Is he family?"

"..No, but we come from the same community! He's all I have left," Willow adds hurriedly, hoping that maybe she will relent and let him stay with Alec.

"Loyalty from loners? Then again if you live in a group I suppose that doesn't make you a loner. No, I'm sorry, but we need strong fighters like you on the frontline. Your friend needs to heal or he will die. Come," she orders once again, "we can't delay any longer."

Willow touches noses with Alec for what he believes could very well be the last time. He see's the exhaustion in his friend's eyes, the same eyes Plummet has. "Stay strong."

"Watch your back," Alec replies. He is gone before Willow can even blink, melting into the busyness of the encampment.

A tail touches his shoulder gently; it's her, she's looking at him with those dark blue eyes like she can see through him. "Welcome to my squadron," is all she says.

They leave the encampment behind, and with it the last of Willow's reminders of home. It pains him slightly but he doesn't let it show. He feels like he needs to act brave around this powerful she-cat or she might just cut him loose, leave him alone in this strange world that he's never been a part of before. That scares him.

"Your name?" he asks quietly, stepping lightly through the long grass. Two days have passed since they've left the encampment. They walk constantly, stopping only to hunt or to sleep for a little while. It is clear to him that she wants to get back to the frontline as soon as possible.

She looks at him from the corner of her eye. "Icepetal."

He swallows, suddenly uncomfortable. So she is a Clan cat. That explains her intimidating appearance and uncaring attitude towards death. They deal with death everyday, clashing with each other constantly. He's heard stories handed down from travelers when they've passed through the community. Clan cats guard their territories ferociously. No wonder they're out fighting in the war.

"That does not make me some monster," she has seen his discomfort. "Nor are the rest of my squadron."

His blood goes cold, "are the rest of your squadron Clan cats as well?"

"Yes. Though we don't all come from the same Clan. I'm sure they'll be more than happy to tell you about their homes once you've met them." Her voice quietens, "we're not monsters like the stories say. We take care of each other."

"But don't you fight amongst each other all the time?" Willow questions, speeding up to walk shoulder to shoulder with the Clan cat.

Icepetal nods with a slight smile. "We guard our territories with our lives, as the Code demands of us. Rules govern us, keep us from turning on each other and destroying the fragile balance StarClan keeps."

His brow furrows, "StarClan?"

"My ancestors; Clan cats that have died. Each star in Silverpelt is a Clan cat, and they watch over us."

Assuming Silverpelt means the sky Willow tilts his head to look up. A few early stars are beginning to blink into life, barely visible amongst the orange-red sky of sunset. He can't imagine countless Clan cats looking down at him, watching everything he does. It's a little creepy.

"I don't expect an outsider to understand my way of life," she reassures.

Pushing through the long grass they step out into a meadow of short grass, grassland flowers breaking up the constant evergreen colour. He can hear the sounds of laughter blowing towards him on the gentle breeze. It's a sound he hasn't heard since whispers of the war reached his home.

He looks at Icepetal quizzically. She just twitches her whiskers, trotting towards a few rabbit dens off to one side of the meadow. "If only Alec could have seen this," Willow mumbles, setting off to follow her.

As he nears the rabbit dens he can make out shapes lazing around in the cool evening air, talking happily to each other like the war isn't happening. "Icepetal!" a blue furred, white patched tom shouts, rolling onto his back. He is grinning widely.

Something heavy settles in Willow's heart, though he doesn't know why. "Didn't miss me too much did you, Rainpatch?" her tone is light and joking, not the usual frosty tone she uses with everyone else.

"Nah," the tom - Rainpatch - snorts, "who'd miss you?"

Icepetal nips at his ear, "everyone."

"You were gone for a while," a fragile looking orange she-cat comments. She rests her head on the flank of a reddish brown tom who watches with stormy blue eyes, twitching black tipped ears curiously.

"She was off hunting Crimson's soldiers, of course she was gone a while, Littleflame," a black she-cat emerges from one of the rabbit dens, glossy fur flecked with red.

Willow suddenly feels very overwhelmed and out of place. They are like a big family, so comfortable with each other. Why did she bring him here? He's not a Clan cat. He doesn't fit in. He's just a soldier way out of his depth.

"Who's he?" the tom Littleflame rests on demands.

All eyes land on him. He stands tall, jutting out his chin. They aren't like him but he can still prove his strength, if they'll let him. "Our newest teammate." Icepetal nods at him.

"Willow," he supplies quickly.

"You have big shoulders," Rainpatch comments, yawning. "Must be something special for our darling here to just pick you up."

Icepetal cuffs him round the head. "He put the life of a young kitten before his own in an ambush by a river. The squadron I was with didn't make it in time to save many, but he and another survived."

"Did the kitten?" the black she-cat's green eyes look pained.

"No," Willow answers, "he didn't. I was too slow. I failed."

Paws scuff against the grass, a nose presses against his shoulder. He spies black fur; the she-cat with the green eyes. "You did all you could. That makes you braver than some," she soothes.

"Welcome, Willow. We're glad to have you," the reddish brown tom rumbles. He offers a warm smile that reaches well into his eyes.

He decides that he likes these Clan cats. They aren't anything like the stories say.

They remain in the quiet, flowery meadow for no longer than two days, training with each other to keep up their strength. Willow finds himself on his back far more often than he would like, each Clan cat fighting distinctively.

Rainpatch and the black she-cat, Tornheart (he thinks her name is cruel but he doesn't dare mention it), fight fluidly, flicking paws and tails as if they're swimming. They kick dust and pebbles into his face to blind him, he doesn't seem to ever see it coming. But he's learning.

Eaglestrike and Littleflame use their surroundings. In the long grass they snap twigs, move grass, use nature to draw his attention away from them, and then they strike with powerful hindlegs that often leave him winded. More than once they've appeared before him only to vanish into the grass a heartbeat later.

Icepetal is something else entirely. She is silent, deadly, _vicious_; striking quickly and fatally to end the fight quickly. Moving like a shadow, light on her paws, she can be in front of him one moment and then behind him the next. At night she is near invincible, using the darkness to all but vanish. She goes straight for the throat every time.

Steadily they move closer to the frontline, hearing more about the horrific things taking place; night raids leaving piles of corpses to be found in the morning, deathberries stuffed into prey. It doesn't seem to faze the Clanners, but by now they're probably used to it; they've been on and around the frontline since the war started. He, however, is not.

It keeps him up at night, every night. He doesn't share his fears with the others.

They treat him as one of their own, speak to him like an old friend. He enjoys the feeling of belonging. Icepetal trains with him everyday pushing him beyond his normal limits; "the frontline is like that ambush you faced, but worse," she explains.

The days stretch on, the frontline draws closer. More rumours speak of Her Majesty's army swelling in ranks at the foot of her mountain. Eaglestrike has bets on the final battle taking place within the next two moons, a moon after they are set to arrive.

Willow agrees with him, though he doesn't want to.

He finally defeats Icepetal four days from the frontline; hears her near silent footfalls against the forest floor, twisting and rearing up to meet her strong pounce. Gripping her shoulders with his claws he rolls, throwing her to the floor beneath him. His teeth pinch the skin at her exposed throat. Her breath fans across his forehead.

"You did it," she sounds as surprised as he feels.

"I did."

She pokes at his chest with a claw, "you're heavy."

"Am I?"

"Get off, there's something I need to give you," she laughs, blue eyes bright.

He thinks, in that moment, that she has never been more beautiful. "What if I don't want to?" he smirks.

In a swift movement Icepetal kicks him in the stomach, rolls out from under him as he groans in pain, and is on her paws before he can stumble back to his. "Too bad," she purrs with a mischievous smile. "Come."

She gives him a new name - a Clan name. _Willowclaw. _It fills him with a strange sort of pride that bubbles beneath his skin. He has a Clan name. The others, his friends, think of him as one of them.

They shout his name so loudly that it carries to Silverpelt, to the passed Clan warriors watching from above. Icepetal catches his eye and smiles softly.

He decides then that he loves her, even if she will never reciprocate his feelings. No one will ever know, he will take his secret love to his grave. He finds that he doesn't mind that all too much.

Hell breaks loose upon their arrival to the frontline. Her Majesty - Crimson as the Clan cats know her - has pushed her army forward, beginning the final battle a moon before any of them had bet.

At first the resistance is pushed back, throttled under the sudden attack, until the reinforcements arrive - Willowclaw and his squadron included. They have no time to train or prepare or even hear what is going on, they are thrown straight into a bloody battle. It is the first time he has truly found himself in chaos.

Time doesn't pass normally, he can't remember when, or even if, the sun has set. All he knows is the spray of blood against his pelt, the feel of flesh tearing beneath his claws, the sounds of death screeching in his ears.

Around him fight the Clanners, a terrifying force that decimates those who dare to get close enough. Eaglestrike and Littleflame don't just work as a team, they seem to fight as one. Rainpatch and Tornheart always fall back to each other, slipping further into the heaving mass, only to slither back heartbeats later. Icepetal is in her element, blood staining her white fur red, the heat of battle lighting a fire behind her beautiful blue eyes.

He realises during the final battle that he is seeing her at her best, when she is doing what comes naturally. Does it frighten him that she is a natural born killer? Not at all. She uses her skill to protect those she cares about. He hopes he is one of them.

There comes a day - or night, the memory is foggy - when the fighting stops; Her Majesty's army pushed beyond a ridge. The foot of her mountain is in the resistance sights, just beyond a riverbed that has been dry for seasons.

Willowclaw lays in the blood of his enemies, too exhausted to move. Every part of him aches. He knows some of the blood is his. He can feel it spilling from his body with each pulse of his heart. A tongue rasps over his shoulder. Numbly he twists, tired amber eyes meeting ocean blue ones.

"We're not going to win," he sighs. "There are too many of them, so few of us. We're going to die."

She shakes her head. "If we lose today, then it was meant to be. We're giving it everything we've got. StarClan will greet us like heroes."

"They better," Rainpatch grumbles, shaking blood from his fur. "I haven't had a decent rest in moons, or a fat piece of prey that doesn't stink of her soldiers."

"Heathersky will miss you," Littleflame reminds gently. She holds a forepaw up against her chest; it's bent at a funny angle. Eaglestrike remains by her side, allowing her weight to rest against him.

The easygoing tom smiles sadly. It's the first time Willowclaw has ever seen him genuinely sad. "She'll move on. All of them will."

"What in the name of StarClan are you all moaning on about? We can still win this yet, but not with attitudes like that! I did not come all the way here to die at the final challenge." Tornheart's enthusiasm is contagious, spreading through the Clanners like wildfire. They take up a battle cry and pass it around, chanting it until they can feel it practically flowing through their veins.

Below the ridge a single screech rings out, a flash of red lighting up the foot of the mountain. "No. Not possible," Eaglestrike mumbles. "She wouldn't."

Behind Willowclaw, Icepetal has gone rigid. "She _has._ This is it! This is our chance! We need to push through the final waves not stopping to fight and force our way onto Crimson. If we kill her, Frozengaze, and that kit of theirs, then the war will be over." When she turns to face the others her eyes have once again regained that light. "We _can _do this!"

"Of course we can," Tornheart headbutts Icepetal's shoulder, "we're Clan cats after all!"

They rise, a mighty squadron, peer down the ridge at the fighting that has started up again, the dead already beginning to pile up. "We do this together, as a team, as we've always done everything," Icepetal promises.

Surging through their enemies the Clanners deal with those that get in their way quickly, rapid slices and snaps cutting down their opponents. Her Majesty plows through the resistance as if they are nothing but bugs under her paw, feral power flaring out to her advantage. Her mate and kitten do just as much damage.

Given the chance, an opening like no other, Willowclaw throws himself at Her Majesty's kitten with a battle cry vibrating in his throat. Catching her off guard they tumble into the dry riverbed just as the resistance begins leaping over it, chasing the army back. As he rolls he catches sight of Icepetal crossing above him.

Then they are gone and he is cut off, no longer close enough to them to go to their aid should they need help. Crimson's kit lashes out, claws carving deep red lines down his back. Howling he kicks with his hindlegs, delighted to hear them smack into her chest and send her tumbling back.

She is not exhausted like he is, hasn't fought for days with few breaks. Her tireless energy gives her the winning edge and it is not long before Willowclaw finds himself feeling dizzy, paws fumbling as his brain tries but fails to connect thought to movement.

Crimson's kit swoops in, sweeping his legs out from under him, depositing him on his back like the Clanners did so often not so long ago. Spots swirl before his vision as he breathes heavily. So this is how he will die: on his back, exhausted to the point of not even trying to defend himself.

Above him the spawn of Her Majesty stares down at him through mismatched eyes - pale blue like an early morning sky, and blood red like the liquid dripping from a gash on her forehead - curling her lip in a victorious grin. She knows she's won, and she knows the war is won.

Willowclaw knows he has lost. He hears a shriek over the din of battle, Crimson's kit goes deathly still over him, eyes widening into what he thinks is a pained expression. Blood bubbles between her lips, trickles from her eyes, gushes from her wounds. It splashes onto him but he is far too transfixed on the horror taking place before him to care.

She stumbles backwards, tripping over a rock and falling onto her side. Still blood floods from her body. She convulses, jaw opened in a soundless wail, before she falls still. Death begins to glaze her eyes.

He just stares, unable to fathom what just played out before him.

Crimson's kit is dead but he did not kill her, nor did another cat for there was no one else in the riverbed with them. He is stunned, warily glancing over his shoulder expecting some dark figure to be towering over him.

He needs out of the riverbed, so he does, scrambling up the loose gravel to haul himself onto the bloodstained grass. The battlefield is eerily silent, bizarrely still. "Find them," he mumbles, "find them and go home."

The dead far outnumber the living he finds as he trips and staggers, simply following the bodies as if they'll lead him to where he wants to go. There is an awful feeling settling in his gut, it tells him that there is something very wrong. He continues any way. He needs to find them, to find _her. _Maybe he might even tell her he loves her.

His unsheathed claws snag on matted fur, sending him pitching towards the ground; though he doesn't land on grass instead thudding on top of a body. Blinking open eyelids he didn't even know he'd shut he barely manages to bite back the screech that threatens to rip its way from this throat.

Blank, glazed, dead stormy blue eyes stare back at him. The tom still has his claws embedded in the flesh of his enemy, face pulled into a final snarl. Blood, dried and fresh, spills slowly out of a wound that snakes its way across his belly and up his side. Eaglestrike.

A pathetic whimper escapes Willowclaw's lips. This can't be happening, the brave tom with a soft heart can't be dead. He's not there, it's not true. But it is, and no matter how many times he blinks Eaglestrike remains lifeless.

Only a few foxleaps further he finds Littleflame, skull cracked open. A drop of blood rolls down her face, dripping onto the leg which she'd held so tightly to her chest before. From the flesh of that leg protrudes a bone, splintered and sharp. He can only hope that she died quickly; the gentle she-cat didn't deserve a painful death.

The foot of Her Majesty's mountain kingdom draws closer but Willowclaw does not find another familiar body until he spots a pile of blue fur amid the dull brown of Crimson's soldiers. He makes a choked noise, pressing his nose to the bloody fur around Rainpatch's shoulder. His neck is bent at a terrible angle, spine no doubt crushed by the heavy looking paws of the soldiers he'd died beside.

Impaled upon the sharp roots of a fallen tree is Frozengaze, Crimson's mate, jaw opened wide in a frozen agonised wail. At his paws is Tornheart. A puncture wound in her chest has let her lifeblood pour out everywhere. Her face is mangled, both eyes scratched beyond repair.

The pain in Willowclaw's chest becomes near unbearable. They are all dead. He has found all of their bodies except for one. He desperately prays to whoever might be listening that she might be alive. Finding another body might just kill him.

The scream he let outs when he finds her sounds as if he himself is dying. It is high pitched, blood curdling, and full of pain. She made it as far as she planned, pushed them all to where Her Majesty waited, and won the war. But at what cost? Her entire squadron just..._gone._

Crimson is dead, bled out as she attempted to crawl back to her kingdom. He doesn't care for that. All he cares for is the body at his paws, white fur splashed with so much blood that he can't even see the white anymore. Her beautiful blue eyes are no longer alight with the thrill of battle. They are empty, staring into nothing. The noises he makes are the sounds of a broken creature, pitiful wailing and choked gasping.

A horrifying wound cuts down her face, throat, and chest, snakes it way up her stomach and onto her flank. The flesh has been all but ripped from the right side of her face, and both ears ripped to shreds. Claw marks both long and short crisscross the rest of her, showing plainly where her fur has been torn out. Blood still bubbles between her lips.

He can't breathe.

He lost her before he even had the chance to call her his own.


End file.
